


Absolute Beginners

by Penguin



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3468176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penguin/pseuds/Penguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all begins in China, where Le Ping haunts Isumi like an obnoxious Waya spirit, refusing to leave him alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolute Beginners

It all begins in China, where Le Ping haunts Isumi like an obnoxious Waya spirit, refusing to leave him alone. It can’t be coincidence, Isumi thinks over and over; the whole thing must be some cruel kind of divine intervention to keep Waya alive in his mind. On a good day he grins at himself for being silly, but if he’s in a slump he lies awake all night, listening to Yang Hai’s soft snores from across the room and thinking about Waya in all kinds of situations. Real and remembered situations mostly, but also some elaborate, feverish fantasies that make him question his sanity.

 _Waya’s genuinely happy smile when Isumi defeated Ochi in the pro exams – “Isumi-san, you’re back!”… Waya bickering with Shindou, laughing with Nase, focusing intently on a game… Waya eyeing Isumi over a can of hot tea, or eating sushi…_ and this is where Isumi enters shaky ground. This kind of thought is much too suggestive, much too prone to close-ups of Waya’s lips. And once Isumi’s imagination has reached this far, it relentlessly conjures up images of Waya in various states of undress with his head thrown back and face flushed, moaning helplessly... 

As the weeks progress, Isumi is increasingly grateful that Yang Hai sleeps so soundly.

***

Isumi returns from Beijing a week before the pro exam preliminaries start, and he calls Waya partly because he really wants to see him, partly to get the first, awkward meeting out of the way.

The smile lighting up Waya’s face when he spots Isumi outside the station makes Isumi ridiculously weak in the knees, and he’s at a loss for words when Waya runs up to him and tells him he hasn’t changed at all. _But I have, Waya. I have. And so have you._ It’s been nearly a year, after all – Waya is taller and his features are sharper, and Isumi just looks at him, unable to speak. At least Waya’s trademark unruly hair is just the same, and it saves Isumi. He reaches out to muss it even more and turns the whole thing into a joke: “Le Ping, you grew up so quickly!” But the feel of Waya’s hair under his fingers stays with him for weeks.

***

Waya is very happy to have Isumi back in Tokyo, pleased and bothered in a strange way. But it doesn’t really matter. Isumi will pass the pro exams for certain this year, and then they will belong to the same world again. Waya hasn’t been fully aware until now how much he’s missed Isumi, and he feels guilty, too, for having been such a crappy friend for the past year. So wrapped up in his own things, so selfish.

Isumi seems quite willing to leave that behind, though, and Waya is surprised and immensely pleased that Isumi calls him practically as soon as his plane's touched down. There’s an entire swarm of butterflies in his stomach when he waits at the station. Will Isumi be much changed? Will he look different?

But the only visible difference is Isumi’s longer hair that keeps falling into his eyes even more than usual, like he wants to hide behind it. Waya is so relieved that he blurts out: “You haven’t changed at all!” Isumi is silent for so long that Waya is afraid he’s offended him, but then Isumi’s hand comes into Waya’s hair, ruffling it. It’s the first and only time Waya can ever remember Isumi touching him affectionately, not just placing a calming hand on his shoulder or touching his fingers by accident, handing him a cup of tea. And then it turns out that Isumi isn’t really thinking of Waya at all but laughing about some kid he met in China. Waya is a little huffed at that.

Half an hour later he finds that Isumi called him to find out why Shindou’s been missing matches. Isumi even says he wants to see Shindou before the pro exam begins. It isn’t about Waya at all; he’s only a means to an end and it hurts – it hurts out of all proportion.

After that, it gets worse.

Shindou has indeed been missing his matches for weeks, even the Wakajishisen. Waya has tried to make him come back, with no effect, and he doesn’t understand what the problem is. Annoying, brilliant Shindou – Waya is genuinely worried about him.

Isumi goes to Shindou’s house, and the very next day, Shindou is back at the Institute with new-found strength, playing a deep, solid and occasionally astounding Go.

Waya tries to prod Isumi about the visit but Isumi is evasive, saying only that they played a game that was important for them both. 

To Waya’s astonishment, he can identify his own anger and hurt as jealousy – pure, raging jealousy, burning clean. Yes, he’s jealous of Shindou for having Isumi’s attention, for sharing secrets and experiences with him. But if Waya is jealous, it means he’s possessive towards Isumi, and if he’s possessive, it means that he’s…

Waya doesn’t finish the thought, but he knows for certain that he’s aware of Isumi’s presence in a new way. It’s suddenly very important what Isumi thinks of him, who Isumi talks to, what he says, where he goes.

Isumi has found a new confidence and his Go has always been clean, solid and refined, so it's really no surprise that he goes through the pro exam undefeated. To top his triumph, he wins his shodan match against Honinbou Kuwabara. 

Waya is proud of his friend and very happy for him, pleased that they’re in the same world again, but he’s beginning to have other concerns. Touya is rising steadily through several leagues, Shindou is playing like he’s finally fulfilling the promise everyone seems to have detected in him years ago, stunning Waya with his deep reading – and Waya’s own confidence begins to falter. He knows Isumi ought to have passed last year; he sees proof of it now. Isumi is a more deserving player than himself.

For the first time, Waya begins to wonder whether he’s good enough to stay among the pros.

Waya has never encountered an obstacle like this before. It’s an ugly thing, compounded of self-doubt, insecurity, and loss of confidence in his own ability, and he has no idea how to handle it. He toys with the idea of asking Morishita-sensei, but then Morishita will be disappointed in him; he’ll betray his teacher’s trust and he can’t bear the thought.

He tries to look ahead but all he sees is himself left behind as the others move forward. The pro world that seemed like a promised land only a year ago now reveals itself as a rather frightening and very lonely place.

***

Isumi is elated. He has momentum now – first the pro exams, then the shodan match, and suddenly the Japanese Go world is very interested in him. There are interviews and photo shoots, even an article in a teenage magazine. When he sees himself on the glossy page, styled almost beyond recognition, he looks good even to his own eyes – probably because he doesn’t quite look like himself. People like Shindou and Saeki-san tease him relentlessly but he takes the taunts with good humour.

Waya, oddly, doesn’t say a word about it. Maybe he hasn’t seen the article, but that’s unlikely – Shindou is sure to have pushed a copy of the magazine under his nose.

Isumi talks to Waya less and less. It takes him a while to notice because his schedule is truly insane, but when it lets up a little after a few months, he finds his friend unusually and uncharacteristically quiet.

When Waya loses to Ochi in the Hokuto Cup preliminaries, he takes it very badly. The final team is the buzz of the Go world for weeks after that and Waya fades into the background, but this time around Isumi doesn't miss it. 

He watches with concern as Waya begins to lose games he would have won if he’d played normally, grim and silent, so far from his usual self it’s like a personality change. There are other worrying things, too. The study sessions at Waya’s place stop, and whenever their old group of friends gets together, Waya is conspicuously absent.

The next time they both play at the Institute, Isumi keeps an eye on Waya across the room. Waya’s game seems to end far too quickly. Out of the corner of his eye, Isumi sees Waya bow down over the goban to resign. He stays in that position long after his opponent has left, head bent and hands balled up in fists. Shindou walks past and says something, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Isumi has to focus on his own game, and when he finally looks up, Waya is gone. 

On a rare free afternoon, Isumi checks Waya’s schedule to make sure he’s not playing, buys sushi on the way and rings Waya’s doorbell.

After a minute, Waya opens the door in silence. He’s wearing jeans and a brown, long-sleeved cotton top that Isumi secretly thinks he shouldn’t be allowed to wear. The muted colour brings out the reddish gloss of his hair and the clear hazel of his eyes to an alarming effect, and the soft fabric clings to his body in a way that makes Isumi cast down his eyes. 

There’s no welcoming smile from Waya, no eager questions about Isumi’s latest win, only a nod as he steps aside to let Isumi in.

Isumi holds up the bag. “I brought food.”

“There was no need," Waya says. "But thanks,” he adds as an afterthought.

Isumi shrugs and puts the bag on the table. “I’ve been worried about you. You seem a bit down.”

Waya stiffens but doesn’t reply, only asks quietly if Isumi wants tea. What can possibly have brought about this change? Something is very wrong, and Isumi feels a small, cold twinge of fear in his stomach. 

When Waya places a steaming cup in front of him, Isumi gently catches his wrist and feels him wince.

“Talk to me,” he says.

Waya stares at him for a second and pulls away, breathing hard. “What’s it to do with you?”

Whatever Isumi's expected, it isn't hostility. “Of course it’s to do with me. We’re friends.”

This simple statement throws Waya for a second; then he shrugs angrily. “Are we?”

That stings, not least because it's not entirely without reason. “Don’t be ridiculous, Waya.”

He shrugs again, half turned away. “You’ve seen it for yourself, anyway. I’m _useless_ , is all.” 

Isumi finds himself almost gaping. “What – ?”

“I can’t play any more!” Waya shouts. “Haven’t you noticed? No, I suppose you haven’t. You’re doing so well for yourself; why would you care about me.” Spitting it out.

Isumi gets up from the chair. “Now that’s unfair. I’m _here_. And I haven’t noticed you being useless because you’re not – what makes you say that, anyway? I’ve seen you lose a few games you wouldn’t have if you’d played the way you normally do. I’ve seen you look… well, defeated. What’s going on?”

Waya’s back is turned now, head low, shoulders hunched, hands clenched into fists. “Nothing works,” he says, an edge of panic to his voice. “I can’t play! I can’t _see_ the game any more! I lost to Ochi in the Hokuto Cup preliminaries!”

“Ochi is a strong player,” Isumi gently reminds him, “and you’ve lost to him many times before without letting it get to you. It was a close game, and a good one; you lost by very little. It could have gone either way.”

“But _I lost_. And when I look at other players… Touya, and you, and Shindou – even that kid from the Kansai Institute – Yashiro…!” Each name is followed by a vicious kick at the futon on the floor.

Isumi finds he can breathe again, now that he understands what’s going on. Crisis of confidence – he can relate, oh, how he can relate. And as he’s been through it so recently himself, he knows the problem can be solved. From what he’s heard from older, more experienced pros, this is not an uncommon thing to happen. Nearly everyone goes through this at some stage in their career – even brash little Shindou seems to have been there. Perhaps it’s a necessary step for any serious player.

He tells Waya all this, and adds: “You shouldn’t look at Touya and Shindou to define yourself, anyway. None of us younger players should, if we want to keep sane – they’re in a league of their own. I’ve had my doubts about Shindou, but I’m beginning to see now what people like Ogata-sensei and Kuwabara-sensei saw long ago. He’s already left us far behind. It's not just you.”

Waya sits down on the futon, wearily, making Isumi wonder whether he’s listened at all.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says in a half-whisper. “What if I don’t have it in me? What if this is all I have? What if I’m just one of those players who never rise, but have to fight just to stay a two-dan? I don’t want to be one of them! But now that everyone keeps rising above me… when I see the way Shindou plays and how deeply he reads the game… I can’t help feeling I _will_ be one of them. I shouldn’t have passed the pro exam. I felt strong then but now I think it may just have been a fluke.”

As if too exhausted to stay upright, he lies down on the futon, still not looking at Isumi. He closes his eyes and says into the room, like he’s talking to himself and Isumi isn’t even there: “It’s an insult to the Go world, playing uninspired games that don’t lead anywhere. If it goes on like this, I’ll step aside and make way for people who are more worthy.”

Isumi watches him helplessly, his heart aching in his chest at seeing Waya like this - Waya who is usually such a force of nature. Isumi wants to crawl on to the futon himself, spoon up with Waya and coo to him, hum softly in his ear, telling him it’s fine, it will be fine, everything will be okay… But he’s not at all sure that’s the best approach.

“Play a game with me,” he says firmly, his voice indicating that refusal is not an option.

At least it surprises Waya enough for him to open his eyes and sit up. “Why?” he asks. “You’ve seen me play. You can’t possibly want...”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve played you, and I can only tell your strength if I do.”

He’s going to try the Yang Hai method: calm down, break down walls, build up. 

Waya groans but crawls over to the goban. They nigiri, Waya takes black, and takes a deep breath before he places the first stone on the board.

\---

A while later, they’re well into their second game. Waya is _awake_ now, they’ve eaten their sushi and Waya’s made them more tea. The first game was listless but Isumi demanded another, and this time there’s a spark of the old Waya. Isumi even begins to have trouble on the upper right. Waya efficiently cuts him off twice, and when Isumi finally wins after taking yose, even Waya has to admit it was a good game. A smile softens his face, the first smile Isumi has seen from him in ages. A small but beautiful miracle.

“You certainly gave me a run for my money,” Isumi grins at him. “Please stop saying you can’t play. It’s such a pitiful lie.”

Waya is still smiling faintly, eyeing the pattern of black and white stones between them that measures his strength and their friendship. It’s there and he can’t deny it any more than he can deny the existence of the game itself.

“I looked at your schedule,” Isumi says. “You’re playing Mashiba the day after tomorrow. We both know you’re the better player, and you have absolutely no respect for him – in fact, I seem to remember you punching him in the face once.” 

_For me,_ he thinks to himself. _You did that for me. He said something mean about me and you punched him._

“Honestly, Waya, if you don’t defeat Mashiba, I’ll bash you over the head with a year’s worth of Weekly Go.”

Waya is silent for so long that Isumi wonders if he’s offended, but then he lifts his eyes to meet Isumi’s at last. He looks tired, but that dreadful haunted look is gone from his face. Something flickers deep down in his eyes, emotion, like a flame.

“Thank you, Isumi-san,” he says.

***

Mashiba loses by fifteen moku and Isumi turns his face away to hide the tears of relief stinging his eyes.

After the post-game discussion Waya comes up to him, his smile not quite up to the usual radiant Waya standard but getting there. He looks tired but happy. His face is still sharp – he’s probably not eaten properly for weeks and has lost weight a skinny teenager can’t afford to lose – but the change in general attitude is remarkable. He’s relaxed and his beautiful eyes are clear and steady.

“Want to go to that okonomiyaki place?” he asks in a voice that’s nearly back to normal. ”I’m buying. This was your win really, Isumi-san.”

An hour later, Waya looks at Isumi and grins: “It’s amazing, how much better I feel. If you ever quit being a pro, Isumi-san, you can start your own consultancy firm, specializing in getting depressed young Go players back on their feet. Shindou, me… that’s quite a track record already.”

***

Two years later, they're both in Kyoto for a two-day seminar, playing tutoring games with semi-sober businessmen. They have kept in touch as regularly as their full schedules allow, and every time they meet it’s pure agony.

Isumi is painfully in love with Waya, with everything from his good-natured teasing to his calloused hands, every inch of his skin, every eyelash. Waya at twenty is one of the most beautiful people Isumi has ever seen, his features clean and sharp and his body slim but powerful. But it’s not only his looks. He’s a good, solid and occasionally surprising Go player, a warm and loyal friend, smart, funny and perceptive, and all this makes for a combination that leaves Isumi defenceless.

It gets even worse if they go out drinking, for several reasons. One thing is that girls (and occasionally boys) turn around to stare at Waya, and Isumi, who is not usually inclined towards violence, wants to punch them in the face. Waya is _his_ and he wants everyone at a safe distance. Another thing is that under the influence, Isumi finds it hard to keep his hands off Waya. 

Tonight is no better. They escape the hotel, the venue for the event, and have dinner at a restaurant a few blocks away, washing down their food with a couple of beers. They’re not drunk but pleasantly fuzzy; they’ve had just enough to take the edge off. 

It’s still too early to go to bed when they come back to the hotel, but Isumi has brought a foldable Go board. He unlocks the door to his room and lets Waya in, looking at the weird way his hair grows upwards at the back of his neck, wanting to kiss it. He’d like to pull Waya close, pressing his back against Isumi’s front, and bury his face in that hair. 

Waya, oblivious, sets up the board on the table by the window and rummages in the mini bar, triumphantly pulling out two cold beers. They decide there’s no need to turn on the lights; there’s enough light coming from the window.

“Let me have black,” Waya demands, as if Isumi could deny him anything in the world when he smiles like that.

It’s not a very focused game but they don’t care. It’s not important. Isumi watches Waya’s strong hand as it rests on the edge of the table. He wants to take it to his mouth and suck the fingers in, one by one, swirl his tongue around the fingertips and watch Waya’s eyes go dark with desire.

“Isumi-san? Daydreaming?”

Embarrassingly enough, Isumi blushes.

They chat at least as much as they play, and the talk turns to China and Le Ping. Waya, of course, has heard most of the stories about his annoying, armpit-scratching little double by now, but there are still some that are untold.

“The first time I met him, I said “Waya!” before I could stop myself, and then had to explain why, and who you were – and he came up to me, pulled up his t-shirt and showed me his bellybutton, and said “does he have an outie, like me?” ”

Waya, unprepared, spits beer over the goban and chokes. “As a matter of fact,” he laughs when he’s done coughing, “I haven’t.” Still laughing, he jumps up in front of Isumi and pulls up his top to just below his nipples, offering his bare stomach as proof.

Isumi thinks he ought to be used to Waya’s beauty by now, but it still hits him like a physical blow. For a few seconds, three loud heartbeats, he stares at the stretch of smooth golden skin level with his eyes, so unbearably close to his face. It’s too tempting. He can barely resist Waya under the best of circumstances, and with Waya practically offering himself up it’s beyond impossible.

He stretches out a hand and pulls Waya to him, closing his eyes to focus on the smooth, silky skin against his lips as he moves his mouth over Waya’s bare stomach, nuzzling and kissing, licking at the perfectly shaped navel. Above him he hears Waya gasp, and gasp again.

Reality returns in a cold, jagged flash of shame and Isumi lets go of Waya, withdraws into himself, horrified at his lack of self-restraint. Waya takes a staggering step back as Isumi’s supporting hand leaves the small of his back, and Isumi bows his head, elbows on his knees and hands hanging, so mortified his face is burning and he’s drowning in the noise of his heartbeat. He’s appalled at his own behaviour. Whatever possessed him? He’s had two bottles of beer and started on a third - is that all it takes for him to lose all self-control? 

Just as he squeezes his eyes shut and wonders how he’ll ever be able to apologize, he hears Waya move. There’s a soft thud, and then a warm hand closes around his own. He has to open his eyes.

Waya has dropped to his knees in front of him, anxiously looking up into his face.

“Isumi-san? Are you okay?”

The liquid, hazel eyes are clear and wide, and Isumi sees no revulsion there, no reproach, only a mildly questioning look and the remains of that laugh. _God, he’s beautiful._

“Isumi-san. Please.”

Waya’s hand, the one that isn’t holding his, comes up to push his hair out of his eyes, touches his cheek, the side of his neck. The touch is electric and Isumi makes some kind of noise; he can’t help it. Then, slowly, like something that happens in a dream, Waya reaches up to kiss him.

His lips are soft and firm, not hesitant at all, and Isumi can only respond. Waya’s tongue slides into his mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world and his hands are on Isumi’s thighs now, warm through the jeans. Isumi’s own hands are alive again, cradling the back of Waya’s head, and it’s amazing how they’ve remembered the feel of Waya’s hair all this time. When he rubs his fingertips gently up and down the nape of Waya’s neck, he’s rewarded with a small breathy moan that sends a surge of heat through his entire body. His heart is racing.

Waya pulls back to meet Isumi’s eyes, and the look on his face is pure beauty. It’s like he’s lit from the inside, glowing. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he whispers.

Isumi is more at a loss than he’s ever been. On the Go board he can read ahead and anticipate his opponent's moves, but in this game he is an absolute beginner.

“Waya.”

They kiss again, harder, more confident, more desperate, and he’s never known it can be like this. Waya explores his mouth with an eagerness that makes him hot and hard, and he wonders whether he’ll have the courage to do what he wants to do. He catches Waya’s soft lower lip between his teeth and runs his tongue along it, and then decides this isn’t the time for cowardly play. His opponent has declared his intent; now he needs to respond in kind.

“Stand up,” he whispers.

“Wh–?”

Waya, taken aback, scrambles to his feet. Isumi follows him, pushing up Waya’s top and pulling it over his head. The bare skin shimmers in the dim light from the window and Isumi runs his hands over it, kissing Waya’s neck slowly from ear to collarbone. Waya clutches at Isumi’s back, and the small, breathy noises he makes are possibly the most wonderful thing Isumi has ever heard. With their bodies pressed together like this there’s no hiding anything, and it’s obvious that Waya is every bit as aroused as he is. 

Something warm and shining blossoms in his chest, like triumph, like happiness.

He moves his mouth slowly down from the base of Waya's neck, lightly touching a nipple and getting a whimper in reply, continuing further down to touch his tongue to the line of hair disappearing under the waistband of Waya’s jeans. He sits back down on the chair and pulls Waya to him, fumbling the button open and savouring Waya’s anticipatory gasp as the zipper goes down. When he eases down jeans and briefs, gently freeing Waya’s cock, there’s a shocked noise from Waya and Isumi glances up. Waya’s eyes are huge and dark and it looks like he can’t quite believe what’s happening.

“Will you let me…?” Isumi asks, his lips tauntingly close to the head of Waya’s cock. 

Waya’s fingers dig into Isumi’s shoulders. “Yes. Yes. God. Yes.”

With a hand against the small of Waya’s back Isumi pulls him closer, slightly nervous about what he’s going to do. He can _smell_ Waya, a faint, salty tang like the sea in summer, and his fingertips are rubbing small circles on the taut skin over Waya’s hipbone. He leans in and slides his lips gently up the silky, velvety hardness from the base up, feeling Waya’s entire body begin to tremble. When he wraps his hand around the base of Waya’s cock and runs his tongue around the head, Waya’s reaction is more than reassuring.

“Oh _God_. Isumi, you... _ah_.”

He takes Waya in as far as he can, disregarding the fact that he really has no idea what he’s doing, fluttering his tongue against the sensitive underside, doing whatever he imagines would feel good. Finding a rhythm. Waya pushes his fingers into Isumi’s hair, hard, locking them there as though afraid he’ll change his mind and withdraw. He won’t; he definitely won’t, not with Waya sounding like that, panting and moaning and whimpering above him.

Still with his mouth on Waya’s cock, he slides a hand down to cup the balls and squeeze them gently, extending two fingers to stroke the impossibly silky skin just behind them. That sends Waya clean over the edge and he comes with a muffled cry, Isumi choking and trying to swallow while Waya’s hips buck erratically against him.

When Waya has gone still Isumi straightens his back, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. Looking up, he finds a flushed Waya with glazed eyes and buckling knees, and he has to smile. He gets up from the chair and hugs the boy to him, feeling dazed, not fully grasping what’s happened, what’s happening. Waya naked in his arms; it’s too good to be true. This is the stuff of dreams.

“Come to bed,” he whispers, his lips touching Waya’s damp forehead.

But Waya is returning to full consciousness now, and just like on the Go board, he refuses to let Isumi run the whole show. 

“Isumi-san, why do you still have all your clothes on when I look like _this_?” He makes a mock-indignant gesture towards his jeans and underwear, pooled around his ankles.

Isumi laughs. “Scandalous, isn’t it.”

“It really is.” There’s heat in Waya’s eyes again as he gently frees himself from Isumi’s arms. “We need to do something about it.”

He kicks his discarded clothes away and pulls his socks off, giggling briefly at the ridiculousness of wearing socks and nothing else, but when Isumi begins to take off his shirt, Waya stops him. 

“No… please. Let me do that. I’ve dreamed about it.”

Isumi catches his breath. The stuff of dreams… and not only for him, it seems. Then he stops having coherent thoughts altogether as Waya removes shirt and t-shirt and locks his arms around Isumi’s neck. The shock of skin against skin makes them both gasp. The kiss this time is deeper, darker, much less gentle, more complex. Isumi runs his hands through Waya's hair and down his shoulders and back, greedy for touch, and Waya answers by licking Isumi’s ear.

Isumi starts violently, shocked by the sensation. Waya’s tongue sends a shudder through him, raising goosebumps on every inch of his skin. It’s so good it almost isn’t, and he has to push Waya away. He breathes heavily and Waya smiles, brushing a hand over his hard nipples. 

By the time Waya pulls open the button fly of Isumi’s jeans, they both breathe like they’ve been running.

“Wait,” Isumi whispers, “I’ll take them off.”

He’s never been out of his jeans so quickly. Waya moves up close again, steering him towards the bed, pushing him down on his back on it, following. Isumi draws an unsteady breath as Waya lifts the waistband of his boxers over the head of his cock and removes them. He thinks he might possibly pass out, feeling the length of Waya’s naked body against his own, but Waya isn’t about to let him slip off into oblivion. He’s running a hand down Isumi’s arm and over his chest, nuzzling his neck and nipping at his earlobe.

“Isumi-san.”

“Yes.” Breathless.

“I’d like to do… what you did to me before.” 

Isumi shivers down his spine, meeting Waya’s eyes and wondering what Waya sees in his own. Whatever it is, it seems to be enough of an answer, because Waya laughs deep in his throat and then Isumi is moaning, hands entangled in Waya’s hair, while Waya’s mouth moves down his body and takes him in. The whole world dissolves into dark, wet and supremely intense pleasure.

***

“Isumi,” Waya whispers against his neck a little later. “Do you want me to go back to my own room?”

He doesn’t sound like he particularly wants to, and Isumi tightens his arms around him.

“I dare you to try.”

He feels Waya’s smile in his whole body.

***

They sleep badly, neither of them used to sharing a bed, but it doesn’t matter. They can just shift position and then entangle in new ways, sigh and drift off again.

It’s still dark when Isumi wakes up from Waya kissing his shoulder and caressing his hip. He’s apparently been awake for a while, very obviously ready to do other things than sleep. Isumi’s body responds readily and he turns around to face Waya, still not entirely awake, but somewhere along the way deciding that this is by far the best sleepless night he’s ever had.

***

“I love you,” Waya mumbles sleepily in the first grey light of dawn.

It takes Isumi a second to process what he’s hearing, but then he pulls Waya so close they can barely breathe, resting his chin on top of the tousled head as Waya nestles against him. Outside, the birds begin to sing.

“Damn,” he says softly into the room, smiling. “I wanted to be the one to say it first.”

He’s never, ever been this happy.

Waya makes a sound against Isumi’s neck then, and struggles free to see Isumi’s face. 

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Isumi-san… how long have you loved me?”

“I’m not sure, but I realized I did when I was in Beijing. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I used to think some higher power had sent Le Ping to remind me.”

Waya throws his head back at that and laughs out loud, and Isumi really does love him so much it hurts. 

“What about you?”

Waya’s finger traces Isumi’s jawline. “You remember when Shindou kept ditching his matches, just after he’d turned pro? You went to his house, and God knows what you said or did, but he came back. I was so jealous! I kept wondering if anything like that ever happened to me, whether you’d come to _my_ house. And you did.” There’s a squeeze of Waya’s hard arms. “Actually… the first time we met after you got back from China… when I first saw you. You were so… your hair kept falling into your eyes, and… Isumi-san, you’re so _beautiful_! You don’t seem to have any idea how beautiful you are.”

Isumi feels himself blushing, and wonderful as it is to hear this, he needs to change the subject. 

“Seriously, you can’t keep calling me that. Use my given name.”

Waya looks startled, as if he’s encountered an unexpected obstacle. Isumi has to laugh.

“Is it really that hard? Sakurano-san calls me _Shin-chan_ – but I guess she’s entitled to; she’s known me all my life.”

“Shin-chan.” Saying it makes Waya blush in his turn, and Isumi laughs again, delighted.

Waya turns on his back, looking up at the ceiling, smiling, trying again. “Shinichirou.”

Isumi runs a finger over a golden-tanned shoulder down to the nipple.

“Try mine,” Waya suggests. “Yoshitaka.”

“I _know_ , you idiot – I’ve known you for years! – Yoshitaka,” he mumbles with his mouth just below Waya’s ear, circling Waya’s nipple with a fingertip.

“It’ll take some getting used to,” Waya says, and then protests pointedly: “ _Isumi-san_ , if you keep doing that, I can’t focus on _anything_ else.”

There’s really only one logical response to that. Isumi props himself up on an elbow and leans down to tease the nipple with tongue and teeth. Under him, Waya sighs, shudders and moans, and every inch of him belongs to Isumi.


End file.
